Remix Culture: Is Copying Creative?

      Have you ever listened to a remix where two completely different songs somehow come together into one perfect mix? Music like this can be creative and exciting, but is it truly a form of art and skill, or is it simply copying someone else’s work? In the documentary RiP!: A Remix Manifesto, filmmaker Brett Gaylor explores this debate through the work of mash up artist Girl Talk. Girl Talk creates songs almost entirely from samples of other artists’ music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39y-BGoJTms

The tracks are very lively and creative causing them to have a solid fan base. The fast beats and layered samples create what our reading would call "intensity patterns". Music that feels exciting, but what makes it interesting is not just the sound. Girl Talk’s music suggests that culture always builds on the past. By blending old songs into new ones, he creates an “illusion of life” that reflects today’s media world that is fast and connected.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

However, copyright law says he is technically breaking the rules because he does not always ask permission to use those samples. From one side, remixing without permission looks like stealing. From the other side, it looks like creativity and free expression. This connects to what we learned about standardization. Music corporations protect their songs the way factories protect products. So what is the real issue, maybe it is not just about music. If culture always builds on the past, should anyone truly own an idea forever?                                                                   

Don't Wash the Cast Iron Skillet and the Power of Musical Rhetoric

 

Award-winning Americana singer-songwriter Jason Isbell may have been raised in a small Alabama town, but his lyrical commentary on the people, cultures and traditions of the American South make it clear that it never felt like his home. In a genre that often champions the sweet tea drinking, churchgoing, firefly-catching lore of the South, Isbell challenges that narrative, instead drawing attention to pervasive issues like racism, homophobia and gun violence.

Through three lyrical vignettes, Isbell’s song, “Cast Iron Skillet,” uses musical rhetoric to encourage listeners to look beyond the wholesome messages and phrases they know about the South and consider the darker underbelly of the culture.

            Jamie got a boyfriend with smiling eyes and dark skin, and her daddy never spoke another word to her again. . . She found love and it was simple as a weathervane, and her whole family tried to kill it.

Don’t wash the cast iron skillet. If that dog bites my kid, I’ll kill it. Don’t walk where you can’t see your feet, and don’t ask questions just believe it.

While the title might make people remember Southern Sunday dinners lovingly prepared by their grandmother, and the music is soft and inviting, the lyrics are a commentary on the ingrained, often-generational prejudice and bigotry that remains as much of a staple in many parts of the South as biscuits made in a cast iron skillet.

Through its stories about a young girl disowned by her family for falling in love with a man of another race and a pair of once young and innocent brothers who grew up to violently murder a store clerk, encourages listeners to challenge their beliefs about the states below the Mason-Dixon line. However, will the song have the desired impact when Isbell’s music is a part of a genre largely comprised of musicians and listeners from that part of the country? Can something as simple as a song—even one that explores important societal issues—be a catalyst for change when listeners may have been raised to turn a blind eye or remain silent about the issues being raised?

As for me, I originally added “Cast Iron Skillet” to my playlist because I am the daughter of two Southern parents, and I cook in cast iron everyday as an homage to the things I love about the South and its people. The title made me think it was a sweet tribute to that part of the country, but its lyrics have made me think much more deeply about the work that still needs to be done in Isbell’s Alabama hometown and in my small Northeast town, too.

Patriarchy and The Walking Dead

 

I have recently started a rewatch of one of my favorite shows: The Walking Dead. It started as just something to watch while I was at work to have some background noise, but I started paying really close attention to it, and realized that this show is a great case study for patriarchy. This show swings widely from reinforcing traditional patriarchy to poking holes in it with their female characters. Early on, the leadership roles fall automatically to the men.

Breaking it down, we have the titular character who primarily leads the action: Rick Grimes. Rick is an ex-police officer (only because of the circumstances, not by choice) who takes on a leading role within his group of survivors that includes his wife, Lori, and his son, Carl, among others who have come together to try and make it through this world they’re being forced to live in. Rick is the moral center of the group and its main strategist. And he hadn’t even lived through the early stages of the, for lack of a better word, pandemic. But he comes in, finds his wife and kid, and then just naturally falls into the leadership role, a role which had previously been held by his best friend, Shane. The villains of the show: people like Shane, Negan, the Governor, etc, are all hyper-masculine authority figures that have a “my way or else” mentality. This heavily mirrors patriarchal ideals that men are “natural” leaders (especially in crisis situations) while women are expected to be the emotional stability and support.

In another sense, the apocalypse itself rewards traits that are seen as more masculine. Traits like physical strength, emotional distance, and being able to be violent and dominant when it counts the most (such as killing walkers/other people/etc). Men like Dale and Hershel are kind of sidelined because of their caring natures at first because they don’t truly “understand” the need to be violent toward people all the time. But, in hindsight, it truly comes down to the need to be both willing to do what it takes to survive but also to have compassion for others because that is needed for long term survival. 

Negan’s character is one of the forms of patriarchy in the show that ultimately shows how unstable it is, especially in this world. He controls his people through fear, treats his “wives” like property rather than people, and uses violence and his dominant personality to bully the people around him into submission.

All of the women, at first, are reduced to traditionally feminine roles. Lori is the dutiful wife and mother, defined by her relationships to Rick and Shane. Carol is the battered housewife, seen as quiet and weak. Andrea is seen as lesser because she doesn’t immediately fall into line with traditional female roles within the survivor group. The thing about this show that I found the most interesting, was that the patriarchal overtones of the narrative crumble the longer the show goes on. It lets the women throw off the blanket cover of the patriarchy and come into their own as leaders. Carol evolves from the victim to a strategist. A character introduced later in the series, Michonne leads people through her competence rather than using brute force like Negan and the Governor. Maggie becomes a political and moral leader in her own right. The show goes from focusing on the brutality of men, to focusing on the women who are not only supportive, but leaders in their own right. So, I guess the question here is this: Do you consider The Walking Dead to be more patriarchy focused? Or do you think it lends itself more to feminist perspectives overall?

The Persuasion Behind The Playlist

Is music a break from real life? I've always thought of music as something I turned on while cleaning, driving, or trying to reset my mood after a long day(I am actually listening to spotify as I write this blog assignment), but this module pushed me to see that music is not just background entertainment. It is also a powerful form of communication that shapes how we feel, what we value, and even how we “rest.”

One idea that stood out to me comes from Sellnow, who explains that there is a difference between what a song communicates and what it communicates rhetorically. In other words, music is not only expressing emotion, it can persuade. A song can quietly invite us to adopt a mindset, accept a worldview, or identify with a certain kind of person. This works partly because of what Sellnow connects to Susanne Langer’s illusion of life idea. Music does not literally create emotions inside us, but it can represent emotion so convincingly that we feel like we are living inside it for a moment. Lyrics tell us one part of the message, but the sound, rhythm, and tone tell us how to interpret it emotionally.

Adorno takes an even more critical angle. He argues that popular music is highly standardized, meaning it tends to recycle familiar patterns while pretending to be new. That “barely different” feeling is not accidental. It creates pseudo-individualization, where listeners feel like they are choosing something unique, even though the options are built from the same formulas. Adorno connects this to leisure time. If work exhausts people, then entertainment that requires little effort becomes attractive. The problem is that this kind of easy, pre-digested music can train us to be distracted and passive, even in our free time. Leisure becomes less about freedom and more about recovery for returning to the same system.

At the same time, the module also shows that music can reflect real social conditions, not just reinforce them. David Hajdu’s idea of “music in the meltdown” suggests that cultural chaos and economic stress can shape sound itself, sometimes producing music that is rough, messy, or even intentionally unpleasant because it mirrors the world people are living in. Remix culture pushes back in another way. Instead of treating culture as something owned by corporations, it argues that culture grows by borrowing, sampling, and rebuilding the past.

So now when I listen, I am asking new questions. What is this song training me to feel? What is it normalizing? Is it giving me release without change, or is it helping me see something more clearly? Music still feels like a break, but I no longer think it is neutral. Everyone has an angle.

Nothing New on the Radio

     Music has always mirrored the time period it was created in, but lately it seems that pop music is stuck on repeat. If you scroll through today's hits you might notice how many of the "new" songs sound very familiar. In the past decade, popular music has become very reliant on remakes and covers. One trend in music right now is for current popular artists to remake the music of past top artists. Instead of creating new songs and ideas, many singers are remaking songs that already exist. These new versions of older songs bring up questions of originality and ownership. Who benefits the most from these remakes? 

    A recent example of this is the remake of Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car" by Luke Combs. Combs stayed very true to the original version of this song. He even referred to himself as a woman, keeping the original lyrics. This sparked many conversations and concerns. "Fast Car" was written and performed by Tracy Chapman, a queer black woman, who shared her emotions in this song. Even though Combs introduced this song to a new audience, it still brings up debates about race, gender, profit, and ownership of creative works. The remake became very popular showing how reviving older songs can create new appreciation and inaccurate recognition. This example shows the fine line between revival of old songs and exploitation of other artists. 

    On the other hand, Taylor Swift's decision to re-record her own albums highlights a different perspective of the remake trend. Swift's re-recordings were driven by ownership rather than nostalgia. By releasing "Taylor's Version," of her albums, Swift made remaking music an act of taking back stolen property when her record label was bought out. These re-recordings challenged traditional roles between artists and record labels and gave Swift financial and creative power. However, the success of these remakes may normalize covers instead of innovation in the music industry 

    Adorno's critique of popular music feels very relevant in today's world of constant remakes and covers. Familiar sounds being prioritized over innovation supports his claim that popular music pushes for consumption over creativity. Listeners are being trained to want to recognize music rather than examine or think critically about new music. After taking a look at several popular covers, I'm left wondering at what point does remaking music shift from honoring other artists to exploiting their lived experiences?

 

If the Playlist Doesn't Slap, I'm Not Surviving This Run

The ritual starts before the run even begins. Leggings pulled up high, shoes laced like armor, and the walk into the garage is quietly ceremonial. The treadmill waits, powered down, its safety key removed after the last use so small children don’t get accidentally eaten alive underneath it. The safety key gets clipped back on. The screen lights up. A few half-serious wiggle stretches occur. The Apple Watch connects. Classes scroll across the screen like a lottery machine. There is strategy in the selection, because once a class starts, it’s game time, baby. But here’s the thing: none of it matters if the playlist doesn’t slap. The speed, the incline, and the instructor’s motivational monologue are all irrelevant if the music sucks. If the beat hits? Survival until next time. If it doesn’t? The run becomes a deeply personal form of suffering.

The same treadmill. The same body. The same running cues. An entirely different experience, depending solely on the music playlist.

This dramatic shift in experience illustrates what Sellnow describes as the rhetorical power of music. While a song may communicate meaning through lyrics, Sellnow argues that it also shapes how listeners feel, move, and interpret an experience in real time. In this case, the music does not physically make the runner faster or stronger; it represents emotional states such as urgency, defiance, or endurance that align—or fail to align—with the physical demands of the run. When the music is in line with the intensity of the workout, the experience feels manageable, even empowering. When it is not, the same physical effort becomes exhausting and psychologically unbearable. Music functions as a persuasive force that shapes how a run is experienced.

Sellnow's concept of intensity and release patterns becomes impossible to ignore once the run is in motion. When hip hop or trap music take over the playlist, the body settles into a sustained state of urgency. For instance, Meek Mill's Dreams and Nightmares' heavy bass thumps in time with when the feet fall, and repetitive rhythms offer no time for the mind to wander. There is very little release, and that is the point. The music holds the runner in a continuous push, mirroring the physical demand of moving when every physical instinct may be screaming to slow down. It's in these moments that endurance isn't a choice. 

Other music types shift the experience without hampering it. When Queen's Don't Stop Me Now comes on, the run transforms from survival to celebration. The tempo stays quick, but the releases arrive frequently and in a predictable manner, offering brief emotional rewards that feel like small victories. Each chorus lightens the psychological weight of the run without needing the body to relax, creating a beautiful balance between effort and exhilaration. 

In contrast, songs like Free Bird unravel the entire experience. Its slow build and delayed payoff stretch endlessly against the clock, forcing the runner to wait for release that arrives far too late to be useful. With no rhythmic urgency to cling to, each step feels heavier, rather than light as a bird. Time elongates and motivation drains. The body may still be running, but the music tells a different story... one that emphasizes anticipation rather than action. Intensity and release patterns actively shape whether the run feels survivable, victorious or downright unbearable. 

By the time the speed pulls back for a cooldown, it is clear the run was never just a run. According to Hadju, music's power lies in how it activates reward systems, reinforces patterns, and makes experiences not only pleasurable, but repeatable. The addiction is no different for what happens when I run. The body remembers which songs carried it through the hardest moments and which ones made time dissolve. The brain chases the feeling again and again: the bass that syncs with the pounding heart and the chorus that arrives right when quitting feels inevitable. As much as the gym bros would love to tell you it is, the next run isn't motivated by discipline. It is motivated by memory of the intensity it has survived, the effort that was rewarded, and the music that made suffering feel purposeful. 

And so the ritual repeats. The safety key gets clipped back on. The playlist is scrutinized. The run begins again. 

Reprises in Musicals: Frozen and Coco (Spoiler Warning)

    When examining the impact of congruent and incongruent interaction, examples where this can be noticed are in reprises of songs in musicals. In my post, I will be using two different films as examples: “For the First Time in Forever” from Frozen and “Remember Me” from Coco.

    “For the First Time in Forever” is sung just before Elsa’s coronation; both Elsa and Anna have their own feelings about the gates being opened for the first time since they were kids. The song follows more of a congruent structure. When Anna is singing, the music has more intense patterns, matching the comic lyrics about her potential to find true love. However, when Elsa is singing, the music has more release patterns, matching the tragic lyrics about the fear of revealing her powers. As the two sing together, both sisters have different feelings, so with the intensity musical patterns towards the end, the song is more congruent with Anna’s comic lyrics while being incongruent with Elsa’s tragic lyrics.

For the First Time in Forever

    In the reprise, after Elsa has fled the kingdom, Anna has traveled to find her, and the two are about to address the eternal winter. For most of the song, it’s incongruent considering the context of these lyrics. Anna begs Elsa to come back with her, Elsa pushes Anna away, and then Elsa learns of the eternal winter, coming off very tragic. Despite this, the music has intense patterns. The speed of the music plays to the stress both sisters feel; Anna’s desperation to bring Elsa back and Elsa’s fear of her own powers. These intense patterns continue until Elsa freezes Anna’s heart, the music transitioning to releasing patterns. No lyrics are sung, but this is the congruency missing in the song, feeling like consequences for Elsa caving into fear.

For the First Time in Forever-Reprise

    When comparing this to “Remember Me”, there’s one significant difference: the lyrics never change when the song is repeated, only the patterns change in the music, altering how the audience interprets the meaning of the song. The song is sung three times in the movie by Ernesto, Hector, and Miguel. The first time, when Ernesto sings it, the music has intense patterns, creating incongruity with the tragic lyrics. The intense pattern creates a love song interpretation and “remember me” can be seen as arrogant yet passionate.

Remember Me-Ernesto

    The second time, when Hector sings it, the music has releasing patterns, congruent with the song’s tragic lyrics. We learn not only that Hector and Miguel are related, but also that Ernesto murdered Hector and stole his songs, “Remember Me” being a song he wrote for his daughter, Coco. The releasing pattern creates a song of comfort and, while listening to Coco sing alongside Hector, “remember me” can be seen as a form of eternal connection.

Remember Me-Hector 

    The last time, Miguel sings it to Coco, his great-grandmother who suffers from dementia, in hopes that it will remind her of Hector. Throughout the film, Hector faces the possibility of being forgotten, Coco’s memories being the last thing that can save him. When Miguel sings it, he sings it in the same pattern that Hector did. However, the musical ascription in this scene is different. In Hector’s version, he was recalling a memory many decades ago. In Miguel’s version, he’s hoping to help Coco recall these memories from many decades ago.

Remember Me-Miguel

    Music communicates different things to different audiences. With the different ascriptions and patterns in these two versions, we see the impact music has on different contexts through reprises. How do you think reprises convey feelings in different ways?